


right before your eyes i'm aching, no past, nowhere to hide

by iliveinfantasies



Series: The Worst Witch 2018 Winter Fluff Event [8]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Gen, Other, day 9: frozen, hiqsqueak, ww2018winterfluffevent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:52:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iliveinfantasies/pseuds/iliveinfantasies
Summary: And of all the wildly inappropriate things to be flashing through her mind, of all of the possible answers, the lifesaving thoughts that could have come to her, now, in this moment of complete and utter crisis, what came to her was not a spell, or an incantation, or any one of the many ancient chants she’d been learning since she was a child in her father’s home.Instead, what flicked across her eyes like a film reel as the ice seeped into her bones, were of honey-scented blonde hair, a pair of pink tinted lips, and soft, brown eyes.And it wasn’t until later, after the frost had thawed, and the ice began to fall in painful shards from her veins; until the crystals that had formed on her lashes caught in the warm air, melting, streaming down her cheeks like tears, that Hecate realized the full, shattering implication of what she’d thought in those last moments before she froze.How despite her best efforts, those now, those of thirty years ago, when she’d packed her heart into a bag with her books and flown away into the sky; she was still desperately, hopelessly, in love with Pippa Pentangle.———Day 9: frozenPairing: hicsqueak





	right before your eyes i'm aching, no past, nowhere to hide

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I'm still so super behind. Will I catch up? Who knows? But I'll keep plugging away.
> 
> I struggled really hard with this one, which is part of why it's so late, I think. I still have mixed feelings, but I always thought the freeze would affect them all more than was stated. So, here we are! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tumblr: iliveinfantasylife

Hecate should have known, really, that she wouldn’t be able to do it.

Her magic was too drained, already, too frail; she could feel it fizzing, shuddering and flickering around the edges, like a candle about to go out. 

Still, though, she should have argued; should have attempted to talk Ethel out of trying to reignite the founding stone, should have known the girl wouldn’t be the one, either. 

But she was tired, so, so tired, and sluggishness poured from her skin like smoke. She was drained, already, the magic being tugged out of her in tendrils, falling back into the air as frost.

So much of Hecate was  _ magic,  _ so much of it a part of herself, and she felt stiff, now, and brittle to the touch; like there were crystals forming in her chest; like the ice had already penetrated her veins.

She was empty with exhaustion, flurries forming under her skin.

And so, so cold.

And of all the wildly inappropriate things to be flashing through her mind, of all of the possible answers, the lifesaving thoughts that could have come to her, now, in this moment of complete and utter crisis, what came to her was not a spell, or an incantation, or any one of the many ancient chants she’d been learning since she was a child in her father’s home.

Instead, what flicked across her eyes like a film reel as the ice seeped into her bones, were of honey-scented blonde hair, a pair of pink tinted lips, and soft, brown eyes.

And it wasn’t until later, after the frost had thawed, and the ice began to fall in painful shards from her veins; until the crystals that had formed on her lashes caught in the warm air, melting, streaming down her cheeks like tears, that Hecate realized the full, shattering implication of what she’d thought in those last moments before she froze.

How despite her best efforts, those now, those of thirty years ago, when she’d packed her heart into a bag with her books and flown away into the sky; she was still desperately, hopelessly, in love with Pippa Pentangle.

* * *

 

Hecate hadn’t expected to freeze so suddenly.

It hadn’t even been the change in weather, not exactly. Rather, it had been the little things: the sharp, shimmering droplets forming in the furrows of the stones; the spidery frost crawling patterns up window panes. All of the small, prickling indicators in the air that meant that the entirety of the world was now, suddenly, encased in ice. 

It was passing by a window on her way back to her quarters that did it. The glance was brief, the view vague, but it was enough--at some point during the span of time between making her way to her potions classroom that morning and wandering back, head buzzing with incantations, it had snowed.

Not  _ just  _ snowed, but iced and cracked, covering the whole of the world with a vast, glittering, heaviness. It was utterly beautiful, untouched and  in its perfection, and the very sight of it made Hecate’s breath catch sharply, panic clawing its way up the edges of her throat.

_ Ice coursing through her veins, working its way into the bubbles in her bloodstream, pressing itself down, down, into the soft spaces between her ribs; the catch of condensation on the air, the scent of honey-- _

Hecate startled, and shuddered, frowning, deeply. She glanced around at her surroundings and attempted to draw in a deep, grounding sigh. Ice hung in thin, cracking patches around her fingers; her feet felt heavy, weighted, as though frozen to the slight damp of the cobblestones.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, felt as though suspended, once again, in ice.

And she was late,  _ terribly  _ late, for a mirror chat with Pippa. But not even the idea of disappointing Pippa, again, of seeing the smile on her face fade into a dull, shadowed half-version of itself, could coax this version of herself to move.

And she hated herself for it.

She thought of Pippa, calling, the mirror ringing and ringing without response. 

It had been a long time--since she was a child, surely--since her body had done something  _ this  _ involuntary without her consent. It must have been. She worked hard on discipline, her own the most, and would never normally put up with this level on nonsense. Not within herself, not within her own mind. 

Except.

Days upon months upon years of digging her own nails into her palms to calm her heart, her mind racing into madness every time she heard Pippa’s laugh, soft like silk, settling onto her skin. The way her chest had constricted every evening when Pippa climbed into her bed as teenagers, pressing icy fingers to her arms, claiming that she “slept better when warm.”

That very same feeling, fast and fleeting, the first time Hecate had seen Pippa at Cackle’s, thirty years later. The flush of her cheeks, burning and bright, when Pippa had brushed her lips against Hecate’s cheek.

Not since she was a child, then, and it wasn’t just the freeze that sent Hecate into places her mind couldn’t control. Pippa, too, had always been a confounding factor in her careful composure.

She wasn’t entirely sure how long she stood there, mind spinning circles, mulling over the thoughts in her head like sculptors shaping clay.

“Hecate.”

Hecate blinked. The voice wasn’t the soft, tinkling lightness of Pippa’s. She looked around, dragging herself slowly, listlessly, out of her reverie.

The ice on her bones had  _ almost  _ thawed, mostly, by now, the frost flickering into droplets of condensation around her lungs.

She turned to see Ada, standing there with a look of mild concern, fingers pressed together at the fingertips. She looked over her glasses at Hecate, the glint of her too-knowing eyes fixed on Hecate’s own.

“You have, it seems,” said Ada, mildly, “Missed a mirror call with Miss Pentangle. Actually,” she amended, raising her eyebrows, a twinkle lighting in her eyes, “You have missed a number of them, and Miss Pentangle was rather insistent that someone come check on you.”

Hecate blinked, coming out of herself far more slowly than she’d have liked. She stared out the window, startled to see the sky dark and blank behind the moon, pinpricks of stars appearing and reappearing behind the. It had been a couple of hours, then, at least.

She stiffened, her frown deepening, and nodded, stiffly.

“Yes, thank. You. Miss Cackle.” Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears, but she pressed on, coaxing her feet forward, leaving Ada on the stairwell behind her. She didn’t trust her magic enough to transfer, right now, and every clack of her heels on the cobblestones sent a new, fresh wave of self-loathing up her spine. 

Freezing, like that, falling into utter  _ uselessness  _ for something as simple as  _ snow _ , it was unforgivable, it was--

She stopped short in the doorway to her quarters. 

Pippa stood there, a pink shawl wrapped around her shoulders, warming her fingertips against a sparking fire that smelled sharply of Pippa’s magic, all honeysuckles and primrose and sharp, spicy nutmeg. Her broom was leaning against a far wall, her brown satchel slung haphazardly over one of Hecate’s armchairs, as though she had rushed in and thrown the bag down in haste.

Hecate suspected, with a quick, sinking blow to her chest, that that was exactly what Pippa had done when Hecate had failed to respond to Pippa’s calls. 

Hecate pursed her lips, attempting to force her mouth to move. “Pipsqueak?” she pressed out, and winced at the use of Pippa’s nickname. It was too intimate, right now, their reconciliation too new, too fresh, to throw out to the world in such a glib manor.

But Pippa’s eyes widened, then softened, a filter forming over her gaze; something wild, full of concern, and studded with something else that Hecate couldn’t quite place.

Pippa floated over to Hecate, quickly, as though on a cloud, and wrapped her hand around Hecate’s fingers.

Hecate stiffened, the warmth sending little sparks down her limbs, and Pippa breathed out. “All gods, Hiccup, your skin is like ice.”

She tugged Hecate, gently at first, then a little more firmly, over to the couch. She sat Hecate down, flicking her fingers casually toward the fire, and the flames flickered up just a little higher, lapping their way toward the edges of the hearth.

They sat there for a long moment, the snow falling in thick sheaves outside the windows, flames drawing patterns in shadows on their skin.

Finally, Pippa turned to Hecate and tilted her head, just a little, to the left. “What happened, Hecate?”

An involuntary shudder ran through Hecate, and she felt the frost beginning to form around the edges of her mind. She said nothing, but her eyes flicked up to the window, where snow was now forming clumps, brand new icicles cresting down the glass.

She looked away just as quickly, flicking her eyes back toward the fire. “It’s nothing, Pippa,” she said, stiffly. “I apologize, I was merely caught up with class.”

But Pippa being Pippa, she had seen the falter, seen the stilt in Hecate’s voice, and furrowed her brows.

“The snow?” she asked, quietly, confusion tinting her voice. 

Hecate looked away, staring into the fire, at the walls, at her lap. Anywhere but Pippa.

“It’s nothing,” she said, again, her voice strained, and she could feel the icicles forming on the words, pressing in on her magic as it sparked erratically over her skin.

Hecate paled, her hands shaking, just slightly. She never,  _ never  _ lost control. Of all the stupid, foolish--

“ _ Hecate, _ ” said Pippa, reaching up a hand to cup Hecate’s face, then she froze. Pippa’s eyes flashed, moving quickly between the window, the cold, clammy touch of Hecate’s skin. Back to the window, again, and to Hecate’s old robes, hooked against the wall, still encased in a strange, unmoving layer of ice that none of them had been able to get rid of after the freeze. Her face fell, sympathy working its way around the edges of her eyes, and Hecate pointedly looked away.

“Oh, Hiccup,” Pippa said, and the delicate way Pippa said her name, as though Hecate herself was made of ice, sent warm bursts of air through Hecate’s veins, making her shudder. “It  _ is  _ the snow, isn’t it?”

Hecate stiffened, pursed her lips, but said nothing.

“I should have known,” Pippa murmured, almost to herself. “You’re such a powerful witch, you’re so...so  _ much  _ magic, that of course, it would affect you more, of course…”

Hecate drew in a shallow breath, felt it curl into icy air in her stomach. “Nothing I cannot handle, Pippa,” but Pippa was already shaking her head.

“Always too brave, and too stubborn, and too..” Pippa trailed off, and  Hecate finally made the mistake of looking up, into Pippa’s eyes, too warm and too soft and too loving.

Those same eyes she’d seen, before she froze.

Those same eyes looking at her now, sparks swirling, with nothing but admiration and adoration and…

And love.

Not ice, then, now; but a soft warmth, spreading softly from her chest to her fingertips, like a fire igniting in her soul.


End file.
